


What You Give Just Serves Me Right

by CultOfAdoration



Series: If He Had A Symbol, It Would Be Lead [3]
Category: Ghost (Swedish Band)
Genre: Crying, Edging, Heat (kind of), M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, Praise Kink, can be read as a Standalone fic, demon puberty! how fun!, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-08-14 15:44:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16495586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CultOfAdoration/pseuds/CultOfAdoration
Summary: “What is wrong with you?” He says, softer this time but still audibly annoyed.





	What You Give Just Serves Me Right

The ghoul groans loudly into his knees, lips pulled back over his teeth in a snarl, from where he’s curled up on the plush sofa in the corner of the room. 

“ _ Quiet _ .” 

The stern warning comes before the ghoul even stops pulling the sound from deep in his chest. He huffs while twisting and turning for the thousandth time, unable to find a position that doesn’t make his muscles ache. God, he wishes he could go back to bed but the overhead lights and presence of other ghouls only gave him a migraine. He settles down for a moment, doubled over with his forehead against his knees before the new position makes his head thrum. Loud voices and footsteps out in the hallway make another growl rumble involuntarily through his chest. 

“Hey, none of that!”

This time, when Papa snaps at him, he flinches and curls in on himself tighter. The other man sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, when he finally turns to look at the sorry creature. A low, nasal whine rises from the ghoul’s throat.

The ghoul had come in an hour earlier, hair a mess and clothes disheveled, complaining of feeling ill but refusing to go to the infirmary, asking only to sit “where it’s quiet” for a while. Papa allowed it, but warned that if the ghoul disturbed or got him sick, he’d be on janitorial duty for the rest of the month. 

“What is  _ wrong _ with you?” He says, softer this time but still audibly annoyed.

“I just–,” the ghoul swallows thickly, throat feeling scratchy and dry, before he tries again. “I can’t sleep. It’s like everything is too sharp but it’s foggy at the same time. Everything hurts.” He winces when the last part comes out much weaker than he meant it to.

“You can have the day if you need it. The week, even. Somebody else can cover for you until you feel better,” Papa says, not looking up from what he’s working on. All gratitude for the offer is momentarily clouded over by frustration and the ghoul has to dig his claws into his arms to stop himself from yelling.

“ _ It isn’t like that. _ God, I feel like shit, all I want to do is  _ fuck _ and  _ eat _ —“ 

“That doesn’t sound out of the ordinary for you,” Papa cuts him off, not even bothering to hide his wry smile. The ghoul looks away and huffs, but says nothing. The scratching of pen on paper picks up again and the ghoul allows himself to try to relax. Idly running his hands over the cool leather upholstery, he starts to think about how fucking  _ hot  _ it is in here. Even his eyes burn every time he blinks, but at least it’s better than the bunks. Trying - and failing - to resist the overwhelming urge to dig his claws into something, one of his nails punctures the arm of the couch and earns him an annoyed side glance from Papa. He doesn’t even have it in him to feel embarrassed. For a long while, the only sounds in the room are of Papa scribbling in his notebook and the ticking of the clock against the far wall until Papa speaks up again. 

“When was your conversion?” 

Despite the soft, conversational tone, he still flinches at the sudden sound of Papa’s voice. 

“Um. About two years ago, I think? I’m not really sure.” 

Papa leans back in his chair, nodding a bit before shrugging. 

“Sounds about right,” he mutters and gets back to scribbling in the notebook. After a about a minute, the ghoul to realize he’s not going to elaborate on whatever  _ that  _ means. He clears his throat. 

Papa looks over to him and noncommittally waves a hand. 

“Your brain is finally catching up to your body,” he says. “You know. I thought this was explained to you.”

_ Shit _ . The ghoul flops back against the couch and drags a hand over his face. The Sisters down at the infirmary  _ had  _ explained to him that most of the dramatic changes take place within the first few years before eventually slowing down, but this… This was so much more intense than they made it out to be.  _ Mild increase in appetite and libido. Heightened senses and agitation _ .  _ Understatement of the fucking century. _ He doubles over in his seat again, bare feet lowered back on to the cold wooden flooring. 

“Haven’t you made any friends? They can help you through this more consistently than I can, you know.” 

He flushes even deeper, if it’s possible, bringing his other hand up to hide the mottled dark grey blush rising to his cheeks. There is that Sister from the kitchens, who converted a few years before he did. Dark eyes and an expression that always looks like she’s laughing at something, full, black painted lips always quirked up in a half smile. The way you can just see her tongue peek out from behind them, wetting her lips before she speaks. No, wait, fuck. He’s pretty sure she’s seeing somebody already. Well. He’d also recently taken notice of the older water ghoul in the bunk across from his. 

Sometimes he lets him sit beside him on his bed to watch as the water ghoul draws in a little leatherbound notebook. The water ghoul practically chirped in excitement when he showed an interest in his artwork. He found himself thinking about that a lot these past few weeks, or at least, more than usual. Thinking about what it might be like to have that water ghoul curled up against his back, those cold, delicate hands running over his stomach, up his chest, the contact soothing the unbearable heat just beneath his skin. 

An involuntary shudder runs through the ghoul’s body. Even if sex wasn’t all he wanted, even if he just wanted someone to sit up with him when he couldn’t sleep at night, he still couldn’t stand the thought of bothering them like that.  _ Pack animals _ , he’d heard the first Emeritus say once. Ghouls need to keep someone else around, especially at times like these, the proximity of a safe person muting their instinctual hypervigilance. Maybe that’s why they had a communal living space. But he doesn’t know any of them like that. He curls his toes as he balls up tighter, claws scratching at the floor. Papa’s eye twitches and he sets the pen down on his desk a little more aggressively than intended.

Papa pushes his chair away from his desk and stares at the ghoul for a few minutes before sighing deeply and rubbing his eyes underneath his ever-present sunglasses. 

“Come here.” 

The ghoul slowly straightens himself and shuffles over to Papa’s desk, wringing his hands in anticipation for the lecture he’s surely about to receive. Nobody trashes Papa’s office and furniture except for Papa himself. He motions for the ghoul to walk around to the other side of the desk, and once he’s within reach, he’s grabbed by the arm and pulled down onto his lap.

“What are you doing?” 

His words come out in a rush, unsure of where to put his hands or how to arrange himself. Papa shifts around into a more comfortable position, both of the ghoul’s legs in between his, before rolling his chair back up to the desk. 

“I am sick of you tearing up my office,” he says, picking up his pen and getting back to work. From his new vantage point, the ghoul can see that he’s working out a sermon, or maybe song lyrics, in the notebook. He hesitantly rests his hands on his own thighs, watching as Papa circles one stanza and connects it to another with an arrow.

He has to admit that being near someone is already putting him at ease. Feeling Papa’s deep, calm breaths from where he’s pressed against his chest gives him something to focus on. Eventually, his breathing syncs up and evens itself out. Being so close, he can feel every minute movement Papa makes. Each time he leans in to reread what he’s written, every shift of muscle beneath his clothing, the warmth of Papa’s arm behind his back where it sits on the armrest. The ghoul bites his lip when the heat rises back up to his face, trying hard not to fidget around too much. He squeezes at his thighs, claws just barely digging into his skin, just to have something to distract him from his growing arousal. 

If Papa notices his breathing picking up again or the slight tremor in his legs, he doesn’t remark on it. Instead, he readjusts them both so that the ghoul is leaning more heavily into him.  _ This is torture _ , he thinks, with a feeble groan. Papa is not a stupid man. There’s no way in Hell he didn’t know this would happen. At least the warmth and closeness was good for easing both his mind and the unpleasant ache settling into his muscles. His grip on his legs tightens, hands balling up into loose fists in the fabric of his pants, and Papa clicks his tongue at him. 

“Stop that,” he says, much closer to the ghoul’s ear than expected. He grabs the ghoul’s hands, straightening them out and pressing them flat against his thighs with his own. The ghoul bristles at the harshness in his voice and whines.

“Keep your hands right there and  _ don’t move _ . I’ll have someone come up to escort you to the infirmary and back to your living quarters in a moment if you can’t calm down,” Papa says. The ghoul makes a disappointed sound when Papa takes his hands away before he can stop himself. Taking pity, Papa keeps a hand on the ghoul’s hip instead of returning it to the armrest, occasionally stroking over his side.  _ Fucker _ , the ghoul thinks, squeezing his thighs together, seeking some sort of relief from the growing pressure. 

“How do you feel?” 

The ghoul takes a second to register that he’s being spoken to, too preoccupied with trying to sit still and keep quiet, biting back pathetic little noises

“Better. But, uh,” he cuts himself off with a hiss when one of Papa’s hands brushes over his groin, the other man humming in affirmation. 

The ghoul twitches his hips up toward Papa’s hand for more contact, only for him to pull away with a low warning sound. His hand makes its way up into his shirt, surprisingly gentle as he drags his fingers over his bare stomach and chest, pushing his shirt up as he goes. The other runs through the trail of soft, dark grey hair on the ghoul’s navel, fingers rubbing soothing little circles over the tightened muscles of his stomach. When Papa’s hand finally dips below the waist of his pants, the ghoul gives off a sound that’s almost like a purr, letting his hands wander to clutch at whatever he can reach. His hands move over his skin, unhurried and feather-light, wrapping his fingers loosely around the base of his dick. 

The pace stays unbearably slow for the longest time, working the ghoul higher until he’s cursing under his breath and grasping desperately at the side of Papa’s leg to anchor himself. The angle is a little awkward, Papa’s cheek pressing against the back of the ghoul’s shoulder, but neither of them make any attempt to change it. Papa speeds up just a bit when the ghoul lets his head fall back onto his shoulder and moans. 

“Are you gonna come? Do you want to fucking come?” 

The ghoul bites his lip and nods, rocking against him now. All his squirming has gotten him hard and he’s unable to hide the grin that spreads over his features. Papa runs his lips over the back of his shoulder. He can feel teeth drag on his skin, through the fabric. Not a bite, not quite yet, but a warning. Then, his hands are gone. 

“Wh— don't stop, don’t stop, what are you doing?” 

Papa says nothing, only shoving the ghoul off of him and standing. A flash of rage washes over the ghoul before he remembers who exactly he’s dealing with and pulls himself together, tugging his shirt back down to cover his flushed skin.

“Come, make yourself decent. Might as well do it properly if I’m going to do it at all,” he says with a dismissive wave of his hand after flipping the notebook closed and slipping it into the topmost drawer along with a few stray papers. 

“Are you kidding me? I can’t go out there like this!” The ghoul says, voice high with embarrassment. 

“Ah. That’s unfortunate,” Papa says and turns to leave after cleaning off his desk. He puts his hand in his pocket and flips through his keys. “Well then, lock the door, whichever side of it you’re on.” 

The ghoul fumbles as he tries to fix the rest of his clothing and follow him at the same time, still weak in the knees. He doesn’t miss the way that Papa looks at him from the corner of his eye as he locks the office door behind them, turning on his heel and heading down the hallway without another word.

The ghoul follows close behind, anxiously looking out for anyone they may run into. Ghouls aren’t usually seen in this section of the church unless they have jobs to do here. Luckily for him, the walk is uneventful and before long, the ghoul finds himself being dragged into Papa’s bedroom and ushered gently towards his bed. 

Papa still hasn’t said anything since they left his office, so the ghoul awkwardly sits at the edge of the mattress, idly running his fingers over the charcoal grey bedding. 

Would it be weird if he laid down? Is that too casual? He would have said to, right?

Drumming his fingers on his leg, he watches as Papa shrugs off his coat and undoes his tie, hanging them both neatly behind the door. He turns, pushing his shirt sleeves up and rebuttoning them at his elbows. He pauses when he looks up at the ghoul.

“What are you doing?” 

“Oh, I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to, uh…” 

Papa sighs, shoulders visibly slumping. He purses his lips for a second, rubbing the side of his face like he’s trying to hide a smile and the ghoul immediately drops his gaze to the floor. Papa moves to stand in front of the ghoul, who has to part his legs to accommodate him, and scratches his fingers through his hair for a little while. Once the ghoul is at ease, he’s gently pushed down to lie back on the bed, Papa remaining stoic as he climbs on after him, still between his legs. Once the both of them are situated on the bed, he’s grabbed by the thighs and dragged closer, so that his ass is against Papa’s hips and he can wrap his legs around his waist. He shouldn’t be flustered by this; there’s no reason for it. They’ve arguably done worse, but the ghoul can’t help but feel shy when he realizes that he’s being held like this so he won’t be able to twist away. 

His pants and boxers are unceremoniously tugged down and Papa wastes no time in getting his hands back on him. He strokes the skin of his bare inner thigh, then runs the palm of his hand against the underside of his cock, earning a hiss. Spurred on by his reaction, he grabs him properly, moving faster than before. 

“Oh  _ fuck _ ,” the ghoul whispers, clawing at the mattress.

Papa may or may not scowl – he isn’t really sure – and grabs the ghoul’s wrists, guiding them up to the wooden posts along the bottom of the headboard. For a moment he’s confused, assuming he would be tied there; Papa has never tried to tie him down but he wouldn’t put it past the guy to try it at least once. 

“The second you let go of that, everything stops,” comes the stern warning before Papa goes back to his teasing, light touches, moving only slightly faster than before.

It comes off as both a threat and a promise and the ghoul can’t help but feel like it was intentional. He nods, unsure of why he’d even need a safe signal until his rapidly building orgasm pushes every coherent thought right out of his head. Papa holds him down by the hip when he starts to thrust into his hand, letting him go and running his hands all over the ghoul’s stomach and chest, pinching one of his nipples between two of his fingers.  _ Okay, yeah, maybe heightened senses weren’t so bad after all.  _ He can’t even find it in him to be frustrated this time, because this is just as good. He could practically come from this alone. Maybe that’s the plan? 

“ _ You’re so hard, _ ” he moans, arching and grinding against Papa’s lap. “C’mon and fuck me already.”

Papa pins him down by the hips again and simply shakes his head, holding him there until the near-orgasm high wanes enough that he can touch him without incident. He’s good, way too good at this, working him higher and higher, only to slow and ultimately stop when the ghoul nears his limit. Pouting, the ghoul tries to use his legs still wrapped around the other man’s waist to pull him in closer, but he doesn’t budge. He continues his torture for what feels like hours, that smug half-smile plastered on his face throughout, until the ghoul beneath him is a quivering, teary-eyed mess. All the ghoul can do is cry out when Papa moves his hand away again. Instead, he goes back to touching his chest, rough pads of his thumbs working over his nipples. He even has the nerve to laugh when the ghoul arches his chest into the touch, like he isn’t the reason he’s so humiliatingly desperate for whatever pleasure he can get. 

“Just get me off and be done with it,” the ghoul says after a long moment of struggling to piece together a coherent sentence. 

Without skipping a beat, Papa asks, “But isn’t this so much better?”, to which the ghoul whines in protest. 

“Trust me. You want this to last as long as possible.” 

He’s  _ right _ . He’s completely right, his migraine and the tension in his muscles had waned almost immediately. The Sisters working the infirmary told all of the new ghouls that when the time comes, sexual stimulation and intimacy can help dull the aches and unpredictable mood swings. 

His thoughts are interrupted when Papa strokes the back of his index finger up the underside of his cock, almost experimentally, keeping his eyes locked on the ghoul’s face the entire time. Precome wells at the oversensitive tip before dripping thickly down the shaft. He must like what he sees, the ghoul’s entire body twitching away and then closer to him like it can’t decide whether this is too much or not enough at all, because he repeats the motion over and over  _ and over _ .

“You can come whenever you want, Ghoul,” he says, tauntingly. “What are you waiting for? I won’t stop you.” 

The ghoul only whines in response, head falling to the side. Mouth open, eyes shut tight, panting. Arching into his hand for more contact, his legs shifting higher on Papa’s back. With a frustrated growl, he uses the newfound leverage to pull Papa even closer. Gasping in surprise, the other man barely has enough time to catch himself before he comes crashing down on top of him. He gets over his shock rather quickly, shifting up to his knees and holding up most of his weight with his free hand, looming over the ghoul. The new position bends the ghoul uncomfortably in half, he would complain if not for the distinct feeling of Papa’s hard dick against his ass. 

“Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, Papa—“ 

“ _ No _ .”

The annoyed finality in Papa’s voice, almost like he’s reprimanding a misbehaving pet, makes the ghoul toss his head back against the pillow with another growl. It’s beginning to be too much for him to handle, just this side of painful, but it’s so  _ good _ he’ll be damned if he tells him to stop. Distantly, he wonders if Papa is getting as frustrated as he is. There’s no way he isn’t getting at least a little uncomfortable by now. The muscles in his thighs strain, tired and overworked, as he grinds his ass into Papa’s lap in an honestly pitiful attempt to change his mind. Papa merely grits his teeth and hisses. 

His heart feels like it’s about to explode when Papa spits into his hand and wraps his fingers around his shaft again, squeezing gently at the base, a whiny  _ please  _ escaping the ghoul’s mouth before he can stop himself when the hand starts to move. 

The pace picks up rather quickly, almost too quickly, slick and nearly dripping wet with saliva and precome.  _ Punishing _ , the ghoul’s hazy, sex-addled brain helpfully supplies. The ghoul thrashes, twisting this way and that, squeezing the older man around the middle with his thighs but pointedly grips harder on the headboard. Half-sentences and incoherent noises start to spill out of his lips when Papa twists his wrist just slightly when he strokes up toward the head of his dick. There’s a faint sound of wood splintering as the ghoul’s claws dig into the headboard, Papa’s eyes snapping up to the deep gouges in the post and scowling. _ God fucking damn it.  _

He lets his gaze fall back down to the ghoul underneath him, gaze burning from over the rims of his sunglasses, slightly crooked and slipping down the bridge of his nose. A sadistic little thrill washes over him when he slows down and eventually stops for what feels like the hundredth time, the ghoul blinking up at him, eyes glazed, thick eyelashes webbed together with tears. His cock throbs hard in Papa’s hand with every beat of his thundering pulse. 

“Oh, look at you.” 

His voice is so low and soft that the ghoul can barely hear it over the sound of his own heartbeat. There’s not enough time to come up with a response, or even beg, before Papa is leaning down to lick a stripe up the ghoul’s neck, using the point of his tongue to trace patterns up the jugular before sucking at the junction of his neck and shoulder. Pushing away the overwhelming urge to just flip the ghoul over and shove his way inside of him, thinking about how tight he is, how searingly hot his mouth is, how prettily he gags when he shoves himself into his throat, he reminds himself that this isn’t about him. At least not right now. Looking back, thinking about all that heat and pent up energy, there’s no way he wasn’t a fledgling fire ghoul. 

Looking down at the deep flush mottling the ghoul’s face and chest, all the way down to the trail of hair on his lower stomach, he muses to himself that maybe he should have used his mouth to tease the ghoul. If not for the sake of his aching arm and wrist, then just to frustrate the ghoul further. He lets go of the ghoul’s cock for a second to rotate his wrist around, clenching and unclenching his fist a few times to relieve the tension. As an afterthought, he finally removes his sunglasses and haphazardly tosses them onto the bedside table before wrapping his fingers around him once again. 

“You ready to come?” 

The ghoul has stopped responding properly, only whimpering and wriggling closer, trying to get more. He starts stroking him in earnest again, running his thumb hard over the slit and underside of the head a few times just to get a reaction. He knows the ghoul is too sensitive for that normally, much less after being edged for the better part of the afternoon, and grins, eyes wild, when the ghoul arches his back off the bed. 

“You want me inside you? Want me to hold you down and fuck you? Or do you want me to make you ride my cock so you can come all over me?”

Papa’s voice is low and dark, whispered against his neck and the side of his face before he pulls back to study the ghoul’s expression. If he thought he was seeing stars before, then this is a thousand, a  _ million  _ times better. He’s practically fucking  _ drooling _ . Tears streaming down his cheeks, eyes glassy and unfocused, with his mouth hanging open and tongue peeking out from over his sharp lower teeth.  _ Gorgeous _ . He can’t help leaving a little bruise on the ghoul’s collarbone, sucking hard on the sensitive skin before biting down. 

The ghoul half-shouts a few words of warning, the details of which are lost in all his slurred moaning and broken, dry sobs. Papa can’t help but feel a twinge of self satisfaction over the fact that even after all of this, the ghoul still felt the need to warn him about his quickly approaching orgasm. 

“Yes, come for me, come for me, you’re so good,  _ you’re such a good fucking boy _ ,” the words come out in a rush, his own voice starting to sound just as broken and desperate as the ghoul’s. With his encouragement, the ghoul  _ screams _ , come splattering over his stomach and chest, over Papa’s fist, as one of his hands flies from the headboard to grab onto Papa’s shoulder. He’s moaning and whimpering unintelligibly, uncaring of the sharp points of his claws threatening to dig their way into Papa’s skin through his shirt, until he finally stills and allows himself to fall back against the bed, lax and completely spent. There’s a few moments of silence, save for their ragged breathing, before Papa hisses through his teeth and palms at himself through his pants, his head tilting back. 

“ _ Fffuck _ !” 

He wastes no more time undoing his belt and freeing himself from the uncomfortably tight trousers, drawing out a shameless moan at the feeling, not even bothering to wipe the ghoul’s come from his hand before he works it over himself. The ghoul’s voice continues to catch on every rough exhale when he makes an attempt to sit up on his elbows, only to give up and flop back down with a groan when his arms threaten to give out under his weight and settles for running his hands up Papa’s arm, over the back of his neck, anywhere he can reach, really. He doesn’t last much longer after that, coming with a strangled groan, the ghoul watching with rapt attention as he thrusts into his hand, his own fluids mixing with the ghoul’s on his stomach. 

He doesn’t have any time to catch his breath once he realizes that the ghoul’s labored breathing has given way to pained gasps. Papa gets out from between the ghoul’s legs, moving to sit at the ghoul’s side instead. Curling in on himself and cursing as if it would relieve the sudden sick aching cramp in his abdomen, the ghoul buries his face into Papa’s side, entire body suddenly aching like an exposed nerve. He gently maneuvers the ghoul back into a prone position and rubs his lower stomach, uncaring of the now cooled come splattered over feverish skin.

“I told you it’d be better to wait. Imagine dealing with that after every single orgasm.” 

The muscle contractions quickly fade, and the ghoul’s breathing finally evens back out. He pushes his sweat dampened hair back out of his eyes and sighs once Papa removes his hand. 

“What the hell was that?”

All he gets out of Papa is a noncommittal wave of his hand and vague explanation about how ghouls have more developed muscle, and rapidly contracting demon muscles hurt because the body isn’t used to it yet. At the ghoul’s incredulous stare, Papa shrugs and says, “At least that’s what I’ve been told. I’m no ghoul, how the fuck should I know?” 

Okay, maybe he  _ will _ visit the infirmary later on. Pick up some pamphlets or whatever they have down there. It wouldn’t be weird to bring those back to the room with him, right? All ghouls supposedly deal with this at some point. Fuck, this is just like middle school sex ed class all over again. 

The ghoul is so lost in his thoughts that he hardly takes notice of the warm, damp cloth Papa is using to clean the come from his stomach and the cold one that follows shortly after to wipe the sweat away from the rest of him. The ghoul laughs, exhausted, as he pulls his pants back up and moves into a more relaxed position on the bed. 

“Hey, you wanna make good on some of those suggestions you made anytime soon?” 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from Judas Priest's A Touch of Evil. It was on my Halloween playlist and felt fitting. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!! <3   
> For some reason AO3 keeps adding spaces between italicized words and punctuation marks and I'm not really sure why. Please let me know if you notice any other errors in spelling/punctuation/etc. though!


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